Intoxicated
by kaitoukidsama
Summary: He watches her, only her. She's intoxicated, but not with alcohol. Wilbur wonders how it could have all been different.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Meet the Robinson or The Incredibles.

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**Intoxicated**

He watched her from a distance. The thumping of the music makes his ears pound, but he doesn't move. He never moves his head. All he can do is watch her. To people who don't know him well (which isn't many) whisper about how strange and moody he is. He flicks off the insults and only keeps his attention on her. Yes, her. The shy girl that used to sit in the back of the classroom now dancing like a maniac on the high school's gym floor. Her friends flock around her, raising their arms, singing along to the words. She looks intoxicated, but it's not alcohol. She breathes in the music and her body's fluent in the moves she makes. The tight, strapless mini dress enhances her slim features and makes her look even more desirable. She's high. It is as if the music wraps around her and makes her its slave.

His eyes never waver. Many of the so-called friends that he had try to get him on the dance floor. He would shake his head, take a sip of his water, and continue to stare at her. Some would shake their heads and run back to the dance floor; others would pat his shoulder and give him a sympathetic glance. Guys come up to her and try to dance dirty with her. She shakes them off with a laugh and moving her head left and right. A gentle push is given. Some look offended, most understand. She would go back to the group of friends she made over the years. They dance and screamed song lyrics at each other. They twirled each other around. Certain songs caused them to do a mild sway. Then a song with a sick beat that made the whole gym causes them to dance recklessly. She, she's different. Her friends will always stand in the same place, feet unmoving. The minute she hears a song, her feet start pounding and she twirls. Never stays in one place for long. Her hands are thrown in the air, and if anyone didn't know better they would think she's been drinking. She's intoxicated. Intoxicated with the music. The beating of the speakers. The feeling of being able to let loose. Her long black hair whips around her face as she spins. Her blue eyes dance vividly. He's not intoxicated like her. He needs her to be intoxicated.

She knew that he was watching her. It has been like that ever since he broke it off with her. They kept it cool. Words weren't spoken unless needed to. She changed. She matured. Only kept relationships for a week before breaking it off. Maybe it was because she knew that she wouldn't feel the same. Maybe it was the fear of commitment. Maybe it was because she still had feelings for him. She shrugs it off for now and continues to dance wildly. She's out of control. Boys dance up to her, wanting a good time. She gives a fake smile and giggles before retreating back to her friends, if she could call them that. Her high heels were abandoned on the side of the gym an hour ago as her feet pound against the floor. For once, she stands out in the crowd. She grabs a boy close to her and dances with him, Just dances. Quickly she leaves him and makes her way through the crowd. Somehow, she had made her way to the middle of the floor. A spotlight is shone on her and her feet move around the circle a group of people have created. The tightness of her dress doesn't restrict her from going all out. Sometimes she wonders how she became this way.

He watches her move on the dance floor and can't help but feeling that it could all be different. Heat increases in the room as the whole crowd begins to mimic her dancing. They love it. They have been let loose. Screams and lyrics fill the air. Lust fills couples' eyes as they move closer to each other. He only notices her. She loves it. She used to hate it. Hated being the center of attention. Now, it's like her drug and her smile grows. Her dancing gets even more out of control. The DJ isn't helping and he pumps the music louder, as if Wilbur's ears weren't already bleeding. He's the only one sitting. He sitting and watching her. He's always wonder why. Why did everything happen the way it did?

Suddenly, the music changes and the aroused crowd quiets down. A slow song is put on and couples instantly pair up. She stands in the middle of the gym, alone. Her head moves left and right, sharp and observing. She makes long, quick strides across the room as she walks out of the gym. No one notices. Except him. His gaze, unbreaking, follows her out the door. Making his move, he follows her out the door, a minute after.

She leans against the wall. Her pale skin, flushed. Sweat drips down her shoulders. Slowly, almost painfully, she pushes her long strands of hair, with both of her hands, behind her ears. She uses the back of her hand to wipe the sweat on her forehead. The refreshment table sits next to her and she grabs a water bottle from it. She takes a swig of it and then places it down. He stares at her, memorized. She leans against the wall, her head down. Slowly, she lifts her head and looks directly in his direction. Their eyes lock. Neither say anything. The thumping for the gym can be heard again. It gradually increases, calling her back. She stares into his hazel eyes before standing up and breezing past him. Her hand clutched onto the handle to the gym.

"It could have been different, Violet."

She stands, frozen. The music increases louder, now being heard clearly through the door. Her body becomes stiff. Her head is lowered, her hand tightens. She swallows her saliva, painstakingly slow.

"Yeah; we could have." Her response comes out slow, but she pulls open the door and escapes to the music. She doesn't need this. Not right now. She goes back into the crowd, hitting the ground hard with her bare feet. She loves it. She's intoxicated. The music moves her and her blanket of security covers her again. He stands at the door and watches her. He could have done something, say anything. But watching her was his own intoxication.


End file.
